13 January 2007

Casi's Face

Sometimes, I take your features for granted,
the constant shape of your eyes.

When you were born, everyone said you looked
more like your father, though I insisted your chin was mine.

Tonight while we wait for the macaroni to soften,
we dance in the kitchen to the symphony of a priest.

As I recuperate from an ungraceful spin --
a second stilled in the light of your face --

I see me, but taller; me but prettier,
and with your father's chin.

Gabriela Anaya ValdepeƱa

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Perfect poem. And I feel so superior that I actually know the symphony of a priest is Vivaldi...